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Early in the morning in Central Park is a lovely otherworldly time. The haze of mist and the touch of dew on the greenery lends a curious ethereal feel to the world and if one keeps their gaze towards the lake, the small overpass… it almost feels as if there's naught around save the wild with small intrusions of the created. Yet a turn to the side and the reality hangs heavy with those tall sky-scrapers dominating the skyline and there is still that faint distant rumble, albeit subdued, of traffic.
Yet it's here on this morn that the man known as Louis King finds himself. A walk between paths, finding the proper flow of what ley lines there are, and navigating the focus of energies that has so recently erupted and brought forth a few terrors to frighten the mortals. He pause beside a small playground and set of benches, kneeling as he casually runs his fingers through some old leaves and lifts them to take a sniff, nose crinkling at the smell. Something is definitely off.
Turning away, the rather prim and proper looking fellow in his grey suit dusts off his hands, then rests them on his hips as he considers the lay of the land. The lake grants one of the elements to the scene, the burnt wooden frame of an old bonfire another… earth is ubiquitous here… yet the last…
*
A number of the city's destitute called Central Park 'home'. One such person was a young girl with dark skin, and a large collection of floof curls that crowns her head. The nights had been uneasy for who knows how long, and she had yet to connect the dots: sleep here at one's own risk. Tossing and turning under her haven, a small footpath bridge, she whimpers and sits up. "Stop it. Stop it!" Curling up, her hands grip her head as she presses to her temples, trying to drive away whatever was haunting her.
Moving from her spot, she keeps her grip tight, her fingers lost in her natural ebony kinks, and the whites of her onyx eyes are lined with tendrils of tired, red threads. Her heavy, partially laced boots 'thump' with each step as she makes her way toward one of the park's many ponds. "Jus' stop. I don' know what y'mean." She begs once more, her voice sounding in a weak huff.
*
It's as the tall man was tapping a fingertip to his chin that he heard the first of her words, for indeed conversation carries over the surface of that pond. He tilts his head to the side as not only that reaches her, but the sound of her steps and that slight shuffling gait. A young woman. Afflicted. Voices on the air. His eyebrow cocks, and a faint ghost of a wry smile settles on the corner of his mouth. He sets off in her direction, though his gait is calm and measured.
It's only once he's near enough, the distant it would take for a reasonable voice to carry, that he lifts it and offers her a few words. "Bide a moment, stand there." His hand lifts and there is naught vulgar in what occurs, no visible aspects to what may pass, but she may for a moment hear the voices fall silent for the nonce. That is if those voices exist for true and are not products of dementia. If they are supernatural in origin then they well may fall quiet in this fellow's presence.
He turns away, one hand still pointed towards her and then the other gesturing with palm out towards the center of the lake as he focuses and bends aspects of nature to his will. To some it might seem like a gathering of natural forces if they could perceive such things. Yet to most… it's just a guy in a suit pointing at her and the lake.
*
Lynette looks over her shoulder at the voice. Her mouth twitches, petite form tensing under the drab, oversized clothing she wore. Then…it stops. Blinking, her eyes grow slightly as she stares at the well dressed, handsome figure pointing her way. Her hands lower, slowly and she looks around, even closing her eyes to see if whatever had been rushing her mind floods back. A dam had been erected, it seems. Following his motions, she then looks to the pond, and as the fabric of reality begins to bend and flex within her field of vision, she takes a couple cautious steps back, her hand reaching up and gripping around a gold object that dangles from her neck. "W-what…who are you?" She questions, her accent heavy and definitely not from around these parts.
*
It takes only a few moments for the arcane world to give up some hint of its secrets to the man before her. His brow furrows and he then lowers his arms. Information gained, yet for now the voices remain silent as if aware of what or who this fellow may be. Yet he turns to face her, one eyebrow cocked curiously and rather staggering green eyes meeting her own. His smile is offered then, curved and freely given with a calm manner to him for now. "Do forgive me, my name is King. Louis King."
He has that accent, upper class English, perhaps Cambridge if she'd be able to discern such. His stance is formal, precise, yet his manner is open and polite. "I enjoy a moment now and again, when the stars align if you will. The proper pieces fall together." He lifts his chin as he looks to her, "What troubles you, girl?"
*
As emerald peers into obsidian, the dark skinned girl keeps her hand around the treasure, protecting it; or using it to feel protected in some way. She gets a name, at least, even as she folds a bit into herself, knees together, and body as small as possible under the extra folds and sweeps of her second (or third) hand clothing selection. "Lynette." She answers, at least sharing her own name. A silence builds between the pair as she considers him for what seems like forever. Finally, she steps closer, just a foot or two. She had seen what he could do, so maybe, just maybe…"I don' know."
Frowning, she chews at her lower lip, glancing at the pond briefly before her attentions return to the proper gent. "I don' know. I can'…control dem. De t'ings I see. De voices. Don' make sense. None of it. Maybe, maybe it' dis place. Somet'ing jus'…wrong wit it."
*
An eyebrow quirks at the talisman she holds close. Yet he does not press her on the matter, instead he watches her with that same smile and that same calm gaze. Oh he's taking in what information she offers, her manner of dress, her accent, her stance, her body language. It all comes together to give him some small measure of insight. An insight he may well share, "And are they quiet now, Lynette?"
A few steps carry him towards her as he eyes her askance, hands settling into the pockets of his jacket and lending him such an informality, accessibility. "The voices silent now and holding their tongues in fear, or perhaps shall we say, respect?" He tilts his head to the side curiously. "Aye, young lady. There is something ill with this park, I would advise you avoid it if you can. Danger lurks here and not entirely of the mundane variety."
*
"How did you…" She begins, her voice falling flat, but confusion, and curiosity, show on her face. "Dey are, yes." She answers. Another twitch, she considers stepping back as he moves forward, but instead, the tiny mambo keeps her ground. "Fear? Respect? Which is it? Why dey fear you?" She inquires, and after the warning is given, all she can do is nod, sending her mass of curls into an easy bounce. Finally, she releases the coin and allows her arms to fall. The sleeves of her sweater-jacket quickly swallow them up, the tips of her fingers peeking under its cuffs. "W-what are you den, Louis King? Why dey listenin' t'you?"
*
Furrowing his brow a touch, Louis looks to the side, "For your particular voices, who is to say?" He looks back to her and offers a rather subtle shrug as if cutting off all responsibility from the matter. "I have some small facility in matters arcane, as assuredly you must have as well to be able to hear such." He steps to the side towards one of those ubiquitous park benches that line the walk along the park. He hops up it with a light clop of dress shoes, sitting on the back of it and resting his feat on the seat itself.
Leaning forward he rests his forearms on his knees so he can look at her levelly and with ease, Louis smiles to her, "Tell me, young lady, where did you get that talisman you clutch to your heart so? Did the giver steal your heart? Did he make you such lovely promises?"
*
"I don' even know why dey talk t'me. Or scream. I jus' see t'ings, n'de whispers…" Trailing off, she shakes her head and then takes a deep breath. Correcting her stance, she at least seems a bit relaxed now; though her demeanor is as cautious as ever. Her head cants at his question, and she repeats, "Talisman?" Blinking, she glances down at herself and then notices the gold with Norse runes not yet hidden away behind her shirt. "Oh, dis? Don' t'ink it's a talisman, jus' a coin." She then smiles faintly, "Nice man gave me two. I gave one away, t'help dis guy in Hell's Kitchen. He jus' said we friends. Dat he'd help me if I needed'm to. I was hungry n'he shared his food wit me. In public, even. Didn' care 'bout what people was sayin' n'hissin' at our backs."
*
One eye scrunches up as he observes Lynette, his nose crinkling a touch as if getting some inclination as to who she may be talking about. He then verifies by asking her in that oh so formal and precise accent of his, "Let me guess. Tall fellow. Big muscles. Long blonde hair." His lip twitches slightly in amusement but he holds up a hand to stay her answer perhaps before she can speak. "Bide. Perhaps best I not know."
Instead he shakes his head and looks away towards the lake that had his attention before. Yet he looks back and then addresses her anew as if something had been decided. "I recommend, then, that you avoid this park as you can. Accept these voices and tame them, for they are no sign of insanity and they speak to you. I will not venture as to them speaking true, for spirits or the like are often fickle annoying creatures with their own agenda. But still. Know you are not suffering a loss of self nor mind."
He pushes a hand through his own auburn hair and grimaces mildly. "Not that you will take such advice, for mortals rarely listen. But at least I salve my own conscience… what there is of it, with such warnings."
*
"Yeah. Y'know'm? He got a name like dos stor-" Then he holds up his hand. Silencing herself, her expression is once more marked with confusion. From one side, to the other, her head leans and her eyes follow his back to the pond. "Ok," she decides, actively seeming to listen after all. "I-I know dey ain' leavin' me. De voices, I mean. De visions. I jus'…I don' know how t'deal wit dem. How t'control dem. How t'make'm make sense." Her own brows furrow now, sloping gently as she takes a few more measured steps closer to the handsome, towering figure. "Y'ain't mortal?" A pause, "N'what happened to y'conscience, Mr. King?"
*
"Lynette," He seems to perk up a bit as he again holds her off but this time with both hands raised as if her questions were too much for him. But his manner remains polite, even smiling. "You are an individual with a gift, and perhaps, shall I say, little training?" He tells her this with a curious look, turning his head slightly to the side. "But amongst those of the art, who deal in the improbabilities of the world and the like, there are some tenets that one must understand lest they trip and fall so very far."
A fingertip points towards her small golden coin around her neck. "Your talisman has just paid the way for a lesson, if you will. It buys you this." And indeed, this is a lesson he has had to give recently, so the words are light upon his tongue. "Information, secrets, questions. These are the currency and the goods of trade with which we make our way. Knowledge shared is knowledge lessened when practitioners or beings of the mystical come upon each other."
He waves a hand gently, "You ask of me questions, would know answers to matter that otherwise would not be for you and yours. Such questions always. Always carry a price. Were I to answer you would be indebted and terribly so. Is that what you'd wish? Dear Lynette? To be indebted to me?"
*
Lynette stalls now. Her body locks up, as it had before. Her nerves, her senses, all on edge. The crisp nip of an autumn morning causes her lips to dry, so that when she licks them briefly, her face twists up as if there was something rank in the air close by. Shuddering, she swallows, and her gaze lingers on the man, figure, before her. Once again, she looks down at her coin, then up again, her hand gripping around it in some silent request for strength. "I-" She begins, her voice softer now.
"I-was tryin' t'help." She finally comments as some base of where her questions came from. "I don' know…" Then she stands a bit taller, and finally closes the gap between them, now but and inch or two away from him and the bend of his knees. "If I say yes…if I made dis deal, can' y'help me understand m'self, too? What I c'n do?"
*
"I could," Louis smiles wryly, "Though that would be a deal for another time, what I offer now is simply insight. Into who I am, who you may be, what passes her before your senses yet you find yourself unable to perceive." He turns his head slightly and gestures towards her with the wave of a hand, "But I make no bargain, you see. Even if I told you that I would grant such answers freely and then smile so happily as you wend your way through the world…"
Loki pauses there as his smile grows, a glimpse of the feral king is seen in his eyes and the curve of his jaw, the green irises growing large as he murmurs. "There is always a price, Lynette. Always."
*
"I know dat." She replies gently. Somber now, she watches his eyes, and her own give an odd shift. From black to solid jade, her pupils slit, the girl having the gaze of a serpent. Blinking, the change is gone as if it was never there to begin with. Her words are lost to her now, hand still around gold gifted to her by the man's own brother. What he could see now, easily, is the sloping shoulders of a desperate girl; a run-away. A wanderer. A lost.
"Tell me." She decides, her voice small, almost a whisper. "Tell me." She repeats, now with a touch more volume.
*
For a time he watches her, turning his head to the side as if contemplating her from another angle might aid in his understanding. But whatever it is he seeks, it is not seen there despite the tilt of his gaze. A moment passes.. another, the space of several heart beats but then his smile returns and he agrees to her wishes. "The man who granted you your talisman was the Thunderer, the Storm, the warrior eternal and protector of Asgard."
Turning his head to the side now he touches splayed fingertips to his chest, "And I. Am his brother, the trickster, Anansi, Coyote, even Puck." He gestures to the side, "And you set foot here upon such lovely ground that if you look closely oh it shall fall away from you with each step. Do not tread her lest you be lost to such terrible creatures." A smile, slightly larger than before. "Even I might not be able to find you then."
*
"He told me…" she mumbles, glancing away briefly. "Thor. Told me his name was Thor. I asked'm, like dem stories n'legends." Shaking her head, she then settles her eyes on the figure before her; the pair were so different it was an almost harsh, stark contrast. "Ti Malice." She pause, "Loki." She names him, and there's a mixture of her feelings worn blatantly on her young face.
Though under-trained, the girl knew a thing or two about her lessons growing up. Her hands dig deep within her pockets, settling there and turning into balled up fists. The park becomes something of interest again, as a pulse rolls through her skull, causing her to reach up and palm at her brow. "Dis a gateway, den? A cross-roads a'sorts? De spirits like dis place…maybe 'cause it de only real t'ing in dis big ol' place."
*
"Possibly," His tone returns to such a lovely conversational tone as he turns to the side, "It is a focus of power, assuredly. Those both of Jotunheim and Muspelheim have passed through and used this place as a point of entry." He turns back towards her and then stands up atop that park bench, towering over her for a moment until he hops down upon the sidewalk once again, turning to face her with that same calm mile. "Best avoided if you are some lost pretty ingenue seeking her way in the world."
That having been said he stuffs his hands into his pockets again and starts to walk down the sidewalk away from her, his footsteps calm and even. "I will collect at some other point in time, Lynette. Til then…" He offers a small wave over his shoulder as he goes.
*